Improving International Relations?
by StreamingConsciousness
Summary: England was always a pain in the ass, inviting people like RUSSIA over, then leaving. Oh, and then he's gonna get all pissed when he comes back and you two are actually...'getting along'...if that's what you want to call it. HATESEX PWP-ish ONESHOT


**A/N**

**Okay, so I totally forgo it was V-Day, so I know you're all probably looking for a Valentine's Day fic, so here's some hate sex. **

**I wrote this some time ago, and when I first wrote it a 2am, I thought it was great, proof read it a few times, and thought how shitty it was, and how insane I had o have been for thinking otherwise, gave it a good read down a few weeks later and found it wasn't so bad! So here it is, didn't proof read it a fourth time...so I hope it's exceptional.**

**Disclaimer: 'nuff said.**

**Warning: Seriously. This is hate sex. Or what my imagination pictures it to be... BTW The historical facts are loosely based, don't look to deep into them.**

**EDIT 3/17: So I went through and fixed all the grammatical errors...I think. I'd been meaning to do this for a while.**

* * *

"Has anyone ever told you how scary you are?" America asked, pushing his finger along the arm of the fabric. The silence that had been filling the room for the past half hour was making it difficult for America to filter his thoughts. Well it was that or the three and a half beers.

Fucking England.

Only _he_ would invite himself over, with two guests no less, then leave.

"_It'll only take a minute."_

A minute? Please.

When did _anything_ England do _only take a minute_?

"That I've heard." Russia replied, flatly, ignoring the remark.

Russia. That's what was making America so unnerved. England had brought Japan and Russia over hoping to-

"_Improve international relations. It only makes sense, Alfred."_

Him and Japan had gone off to get some paperwork they'd...'forgotten'. That was ridiculous, England never forgot anything. He didn't have to be reminded of the Revolutionary War to break out in rants.

But that wasn't the centerfold of the American's thoughts right now.

"I don't really like you." He blurted out, seeking a rise from the usually blank faced man. Quite honestly he'd lost interest in keeping his thoughts where they belonged, something inhebriation often did to him.

"This is intriguing, for I do not favor you either, Alfred." That wasn't rise he'd been looking for.

"What do you mean you don't like me?" America was completely thrown off. Who didn't like him? He was** awesome** personified, as far as he was concerned. And there was nothing you could say to make him think otherwise! Look at him. He looked so handsome and stylish in his new Armani jacket he'd just bought from Italy. It was no replacement for his classic bomber's jacket but...he adjusted it from either side of the zipper...damn did he look nice. "What's there not to like?" A smile crept on Russia's face.

"Perhaps your arrogance? Your ignorance. Your never ending consumption. Your food. Your media. Your corruption. Your music. Your language. Your lies. Your politics. Your sports. Your people. Your lack of respect. Your-"

"-Okay! I get it!" America cut in, " You don't like me! You don't like my county! Fuck." _That's not my fault. _Everyone knew America was the best despite all his flaws, but this was another one of those facts he tended to make up._ And_, he added to his mental defense, _nothing could be perfect with a human in charge._

"Look at you so high and mighty!" He stood up, temper flaring at the though. "You think you're so much better than me? Let's go back a little bit, ne? You and Germany weren't all that different in the day, were you? Fascist leaders, misguided people. It was sick. You were just as disgusting as he was.

"I wouldn't have even worked with you in World War 2 if it weren't for the Nazi party. Me, corrupt? Please! Exiling innocent people, yeah, great fucking idea." Russia narrowed his eyes. He could take a good verbal lashing if push came to shove, even hold his own tongue if the situation did not permit he speak, but he was definitely reaching his limit, especially with America's staggers getting closer and closer.

"Stalin?" Russia whispered, trying to remove the images flooding his head. To this day Russia still woke up sweating from nightmares of starved little bodies racing away, bread clutched tightly beneath an arm. The cries they made from under the weight of man, ripe in age. To see blood spilled from their small horror stricken faces...it disgusted him.

He hated Stalin, always had. Stalin had done much more than strip his people of protection and rights. He'd laughed in the face of sanity, and forced everyone to make due with the mistakes he carelessly made out of fear, a state in which no man can make rational decisions.

"Yeah, him. Stalin. You and him made peace with us just long enough to fucking be our," He paused, "..._My_ enemy." Maybe he'd stumbled upon some Cold War keep sakes, and Russia had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"You've obviously had much to drink."

"I'll know when I've reached that point, thank you." America spat.

Russia turned his attention elsewhere.

"I just can't believe you. How do you do that to your own people? Just export them like...like oil!" This cut Russia. This cut him deep. Quickly he was becoming fed up with America's thoughtless rage. America didn't know what Russia had been through, and even at that arrogant country's lows he probably couldn't be over thrown by a dictator.

"I think it's time you quieted down, Alfred. There is no line of understanding you could grasp." Russia was loosing sight of things, and more importantly, his tempter. "You know not of these things, fascism and dictators. You know **nothing**."

"I've had a civil war, you know!" America retorted, motioning toward himself and making a step forward. Russia silently questioned the relevance, but knew it was no use reasoning with a drunk man. "Not only that, but I fought for my independence! I'm free now, and guess who did that? I did!"

"_Your people know no suffering._ They have not died at the hands of starvation in the piercing cold. They have not been betrayed by the very Winter that had stood behind them time and time again. Your people live a sheltered existence, and for that reason, you know nothing."

America's advancing was becoming more prominent. "Know no suffering? How about building an entire nation from scratch! Fighting for oppressed freedoms. Trudging through dangerous territory with next to no intent of return? My people have died in the freeze cold too, you kn-"

"-**Alright** Alfred, I'll agree. Your population **was **once-" America swung hard, his fist making contact with Russia's cheek in one graceful motion. He could taste the coppery liquid making it's way through his mouth, and cleared his throat, not wanting to slip into a state in which could do some damage he would soon regret.

"**You shut the fuck up.**" America tried to land another clean hit, but Russia was far more prepared for this one.

"Think." Russia grunted, crushing the small fist in his hand. The smaller man let out a whimper. "You were once great nation. Pioneers, all of you. Even pulled self out of economic depression, but now, even political choices hang near on atheistic measure. You're so absorbed in media, youngest generation doesn't even _care_ about current events."

Russia's vodka tainted breath caressed Alfred's skin, as the adrenalin sent him into near pants.

"Choke and die, Ivan." Alfred retorted, sinking his pearly whites into Ivan's arm.

Just his luck, the one time he takes off his jacket someone decides to bite him...he began to chuckle at how absurd things were turning out to be.

The chuckle grew into a body rattling laughter as he entangled his hand into the darker blond's hair, pulling him away, and pinning him to the tacky auburn couch.

"What do you think your doing? Let me go!" He protested, not putting up much of a fight. Ivan discarded his please for release, keeping the American's hands restrained above his head. He inspected the wound, it didn't hurt as much as it looked like it should have. In fact, he rather liked it, and would gladly accept another one if America offered. He returned his attention to the nation beneath him. _Odd_, Russia thought, _he's fallen quiet_.

"You sonovabitch...I'd wish you'd let me go..." Alfred muttered, a pink tint spreading across his cheeks. Russia was confused,

_a-a pink tint_?

Probably just the alcohol.

Never the less...Russia couldn't help but feel...sorry for the smaller nation. He released America's hands in hopes of maybe receiving an apology, if he saw fit.

This was a mistake.

America cried out in frustration, and lunged at the larger man, pinning _him_ to the couch. Russia's shirt had suddenly disappeared, though he wasn't sure exactly how, or when, Alfred had done as much. It was hard to know this by looking at him, but Alfred's strength could practically match up to Ivan's, which was near horrifying with his current state of inebriation, not to mention his much smaller frame.

Alfred bit his lower lip, and dragged his nails across the older nation's sides in a motion so swift Russia lost any train of though that may have been passing through, and let out a moan.

Ivan caught a hold of Alfred's hands and pulled them above his head, feeling the rigid body fall limp against his own.

"You stop now."

"So it's true?" America began, half a smile on his lips, "It was a hunch. An obviously true hunch." It had sounded cooler in his head.

Ivan could almost taste Alfred's breath, and found that _almost_ was as satisfying as it had been a few moments ago. Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea for them to be laid like this, Alfred's hips pressed so tightly against Ivan's, shifting in ways that shouldn't have felt so fucking amazing.

America leaned down and bit into Russia's lower lip, pulling away agonizingly slowly before letting go. A few dots of Russia's blood now sat on his own.

"If you wanna play asshole," Alfred let out a hard breath, licking his lips "I can play asshole, too." He started laughing, then spit in Russia's face.

Knots became more apparent, twisting a little tighter then they had before, in Ivan's stomach. He snarled and bit into America's neck, receiving a loud groan. What had once been simple shifts was now a full blown **ground** against Russia's hips.

"If you want to bite, I, too, can bite." Russia laughed, releasing one of America's hands to wipe the spit from his face. America took this opportunity to slug him in the gut, baring his teeth like an animal. Russia tossed the smaller nation off, and he hit the coffee table, crying out in agony. Alfred shot up, a hand against his side, the other holding a knife. Russia jumped to meet him. No man in that state of mind was to be wielding a knife. Especially not one aimed at a certain Russian.

"Come on, fucker, let's dance!" America smiled, thinking he's gained an upper hand, but Russia simply returned the smile and ripped the knife, tightening his hold on the blade. He could feel his skin split.

"I do not think you have moves enough to dance with me, Alfred." He joked, tossing the blade nonchalantly at the wall, where it promptly stuck handle facing the two men. America's face fell. His returned his attention to Russia, who'd yet to move. Their eyes met, and America's face contorted in anger. He rushed at the larger man, screaming, fists flailing. Russia grabbed America by the neck with his bleeding hand, making sure the younger man could still breath, or, wheeze rather. "You think you're so bad. But in reality...your no more threat then an ant to a foot. I could crush you..." He stated, hollow and cold. The little gasps, and squeaks Alfred emitted made it difficult for him to gather his scattered thoughts; and when his clouded baby blues seemed accepting of it, he pressed a rough kiss to the smaller nation and set him down. At first, it was quick, dip of of his lips, and they were no longer connected, but he waited.

Half lidded eyes welcomed the second.

The third.

And a gasp invited the fourth. America stumbled backwards, until he met the arm of the couch. Russia pressed deeper, tongue dipping against the curve of his enemy's, dancing, all but silently. Each hitch of breath, each gasp for oxygen. _Beautiful._ Russia pulled away, teeth still gripping America's bottom lip.

Feeling the smaller nation shutter beneath him, he mused, silently, if it was the idea of dominating an enemy that had turned him on so suddenly, or the flushed American himself.

"Man, if you don't fucking stop pausing..." Russia pushed him over the arm, and walked around, climbing between the blonde's legs, and pulling the smaller body into his lap. "Oh..." America sighed, feeling the length beneath his own growing arousal. Russia intertwined his hand into America's hair, pulling his head back to have better access to his neck. He made a quiet sound, but no protest.

Russia inhaled his scent, ripping off the new jacket and throwing it over his shoulder.

"Fucking burgers." He scoffed, recognizing the distinct smell. He ran his tongue over the taunt flesh, and felt the smaller nation stretch his head back further. "Mmm." This side had yet to be marked. He opened his mouth and sank his teeth in, enjoying every whimper and whine he was given as he moved his jaw about opening wound. The sounds alone could send him over the edge...but he wouldn't be having that.

He released, and found the excess of clothes now a..._growing_ problem...among other things.

His hands slipped effortlessly under the shirt, taking a moment to stop and tease an erect nipple before thrusting the shirt off and to the abused coffee table.

Pushing America down, he looked at the naked torso before him and wasted no time tasting, nipping, _tearing_ every inch of his body apart. For someone who ate a profuse amount of burgers, such as America did, he sure did have an amazing body. Every muscle, every contour worth memorizing. He ran his teeth over the rising and falling chest, chasing it with a soft lick here and there.

"Fuck..." America sighed, arching into each tiny flick. "Take off. My fucking. Pants."

Russia was all to willing to comply. America watched in agony as he took careful time to unbutton the pants and unzip them. Each boot smoothly sliding off fluently.

"Ahmm..."

America was so fun to watch suffer. The glares Russia received wouldn't will him to move faster. Seeing the blonde shift like that, hands wondering under his waistband seeking relief, only to pull away, it was all to enticing to let the moment slip away too quick.

"C'mon!" America whined, sitting up to undo Russia's pants.

"Unless you want to suck, you'll let me handle it." Ivan said, jokingly. But America's mind was displaced, hazed with lust and intoxication. A mere button was rocket science at this point. His clumsy hands tried to pull the pants down but were stopped by the bend in Ivan's knees, until he finally gave up.

"Fucking great idea..." America mumbled, smiling. He pulled down Russia's boxers and his own, grabbing both shafts and pressing them together. "Hmm!" He moaned, letting his head fall onto the larger man. His hands set to work, rubbing a little faster and faster as he bucked his hips.

Russia stopped the ever quickening hands, noticing the tell tail signs of climax.

_To close._

"Wait." He said, pulling away America's excited flanges.

"Fuck!" America cried, looking up at Russia in almost anger.

"Greedy American." Russia chuckled, shoving a finger in said American's mouth, almost gagging the smaller man, before ripping it out and snaking his hand around the younger man's backside.

"Goddamit!" He hissed, the finger exiting as quickly as it entered. Russia flipped him over and pushed him face first into the couch, lifting him by his hips. He began to laugh hooking the finger into America's mouth to turn him face the older man, before using the fresh saliva to drive the finger into his hole again. "That's fucking disgusting!" America growled, over his shoulder spitting on to the carpet.

But Russia was already sick of hearing the voice not singing his name. He pulled out the one and only finger, and spit in each hand, slicking himself up. If they were both gonna be assholes, there was no need to be gentle. He thrust deep, and quick.

"**Mothefuckin-sh-shit! Don't you move, you sonofvabitch! Don't you _fucking _move!**" America swore, trying to adjust rapidly.

"You mean...don't...do this?" Russia taunted, leaning out slowly, carefully, cruelly.

"**Ah! No!** I said don't _fucking_ move! You understand that, **da**!" America retorted, anger surging through his body.

"Are you telling me what to do? Amerika?" He paused, still slowly pulling out. "...Alfred? You _know_ I hate being told what to do." Russia rammed into him again.

"**Fucker**!" America barked, feeling Russia lean out only to ram into him a third time, before picking up a rhythm. "**Ahh!**"

"Greedy American _bastard_! You would have...ugh...you would have came earlier...had I not pulled away." Russia grunted through clenched teeth, still driving himself in and out of America's tight heat.

America was to distracted by this point to manage some sort of response. The pain overriding any processable thought.

But this pain took no time turning into pleasure.

"F-Fuck!" He cried, feeling icy hot sensations shoot through his body. "R-Right there!" He moaned, shamelessly rocking his body to meet Russia's thrusts.

"Say my name!" Russia demanded, getting close. _"Say it!" _He reached around and began pumping furiously.

America gasped, loudly, at the new friction.

"R-Russia!" Russia stopped all movement, and dug his nails into the American's hip.

"I said my _name._" He hissed, thrusting hard into him once more, other hand resuming movement.

"**Ivan**!" America cried, shooting over the couch. Russia's nails broke skin, as America forced him into his own climax.

"-What the_ bloody hell_ is going on in here?" America looked over his shoulder at Russia, who'd yet to pull out, before sinking into the couch. "I leave you two alone for an hour or two- no, no Kiku, stay out there, trust me- and find you fucking like bunnies upon my return?" Russia looked confused.

And he was.

Was he suppose to pull out and put pants on in front of the Brit? Or wait for America to talk his way out of any further trouble?

"I can exp'ain..." America said, pitifully, head buried into a pillow.

"Like hell you can!" England barked, stamping his foot. He looked up, locking glares with Russia. "And what the _fuck _are you doing? Your face looks-"

"-Arthur! If...you could...'ive 'inutes..." America cut in, still muffled by the pillow, still panting, still too tired to move from his current position.

"Fine!" England cried, slamming the door as he made his exit.

Russia scratched his head and began pulling out slowly. He could hear America moaning as each inch was extracted.

"This was progress, da?" Russia said, pleasantly, patting America on his bruised behind.

"Ow! No! Not...at...all."

* * *

**I hope that was hate-ful enough. Happy V-Day...**

**"Reviews only take you a second, but they make my whole day!"**

**EDIT 3/17: **** Someone also said Russia's rebutted was lacking, well I'll have you all know before hand, it's to a minimum for a reason. Russia really _does _just want a healthy relationship with America, though we know that's near impossible. And he's not trying to reason with a drunk man. That is all.**


End file.
